


2019: On the (Road to WrestleMania) Mend

by Whimzlogo



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Brothers to the bone, Family, Forgiveness, Gen, Musing, Redemption, on the road to it anyway, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whimzlogo/pseuds/Whimzlogo
Summary: Set during the 2/25/19 taping of RAW. Seth feels like something he did a few weeks back is worth apologizing for. Roman adamantly assures him it isn't.Dean wasjuststarting to feel good about the night ahead, but the good vibes don't last. Predictable. But everything that follows is considerably less so.





	2019: On the (Road to WrestleMania) Mend

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a sequel to my "2018: Return to Justice" story, I guess? In terms of title and summary structuring, anyway (as well as theme somewhat).
> 
> I don't know what's in store for these three over the next two months, but WWE's got my attention about it.

There was never a question of whether they wanted to stay or go off on their own; let the events of the night soak in and not let anything else sway them, or stick around and observe. Neither could hurt.

It wasn't impossible to do both. Especially not when they had so much to talk about. Seth's mind was in a million different places, and none of them were bad. There was no doubt that existed in him at all that Roman knew that, but he was pleasantly chill enough to keep them both grounded, and it was encouragement enough for Seth to focus on tackling one thing at a time, even when his brain wanted him to be absolutely  _everywhere_ at once.

One step at a time. Slow and steady. They would both get there eventually; get back to where they were late last year, with title belts on their shoulders and heads held high. So much had happened over the past several months that Seth took little time out to note that the only reason they  _weren't_  champions anymore was because two things that should  _never_  have happened, happened. Explanations for the loss of gold that were nowhere  _near_  being in the same category.

None of it affected tonight, though. Nothing could  _touch_  tonight.

"I've seen him make some pretty bad decisions the past few weeks, but I don't see a way he can get outta this one without trouble," spoke Roman, from his spot leaning against the wall beside a vast stack of crates. Arms crossed and smirk sage.

Nothing, reflected Seth, except talking about  _that_. Anything regarding Dean, really. But as he followed Roman's line of sight up to the screen obstructing the quarter round of the wall, watching Ambrose hike down the ramp to the furious guitar notes in his angry, tirade-proceeding theme song, he noticed Roman had hardly batted an eye at the sight of their former teammate. Was looking at him the way he always did, like nothing was any different.

"He's a moron," Seth said, and looked away again, distractedly viewing McIntyre's entrance in no more than the very corner of his eye as the Scotsman pushed past the curtain to join the scrapper in the ring for their No DQ match. Such a terrible idea. "I think his perception's getting worse. One too many headbutts to the noggin."

"Ahh... He's still confident in you, so he can't be  _that_  off base." Roman didn't take his eyes off the screen to say it. Seth sharply looked up at him from his place at the round table set up beside the stack. His stomach did a nasty flip.    

"Right." He tapped his index nail on the tabletop, without rhythm or periodic pace. "I'm sorry about that, pal."

Reigns finally tore his gaze away from the TV to gawk at him, effectively breaking the natural flow of conversation and turning it inquisitive. Worried. "You're  _sorry_?" The younger winced and opened his mouth to respond, but he got beat to it: "The hell are you sorry for? What'd I miss?"

"Two weeks ago-- that spat I got into with Heyman? You don't...?"

"You told him what from what. I raised my beer to you that night." He took a seat across from Seth, hands braced on the table as he happily beamed at him. Seth found himself returning the look, if only because it was infectious. The bell rung halls away as Dean brought the fight outside the ring  _to_ Drew, nailing him at the end of the ramp. "Not too many people get the last word in against Paul Heyman, Seth. That's special."

"I meant  _after_ that. Dean came out, 'n he made it out like he wanted me to stomp the tar outta Brock at Mania. Like I had his  _unwavering_  support. He probably did it to get inside my head or somethin'. Make me think..." He rubbed at his temple. The sound of a leather belt striking flesh was broadcasted live a few feet away, set to low volume but heard loud and clear. "No. Even  _that's_ assuming more from him than he's capable of giving."

"You weren't just talking out your ass," Roman pointed out. "The stuff you said had truth to it. I don't doubt Dean recognized that and wanted to let you know he respected where you were comin' from... differences," he accentuated the word with a motion of the hand up toward the screen, "aside." His eyes were on the floor when he added that last part, and Seth loudly sighed.

"In the end, it doesn't matter  _why_ he did it, I guess." He pressed his hands together, angled in front of his mouth with elbows propped on the table. "I just... It caught me off guard, and it felt..." How in the world did he say it? Every way felt disgustingly wrong. There was no way he could articulate it, when all he was describing was a  _smile_. An irrationally hopeful, naive grin, that hadn't been taking into account anything that Roman just said; blinded by the concept of the version of Dean that he couldn't dream of  _ever_ hating.

Roman shifted in his seat so he was fully facing the screen now, an arm still rested on the table like a visual representation of a part of him still having say in the conversation. Seth felt a well of resentment rise in his chest as his brushes with Dean in late October came back to him, all at once. It surfaced in the dislikable form of wet tears pricking the corners of his eyes, in lieu of a place that didn't presently exist to lay the anger out where he could see it. The misery he felt during that time made an unwelcome appearance instead.

"The shit he said about you..."

"I know." Roman's voice was even. Collected and remarkably blank, showing no signs of betrayed ire or hurt. Emotional devastation should have been an understatement, but he stared straightforward-- not as casual as before, but unflappably cool.

Seth sniffed once. Took a deep breath and blinked once or thrice, before saying, luckily without a crack, "And for a few seconds, he made me forget about it, so I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." The stare Roman directed at him was firm. It didn't have enough time to focus, because the three-piece ringing of the bell concluding the match made both men return their attention to the TV screen. Registering the sight of McIntyre rolling off a downed, spent Ambrose seconds after pinning him.

It looked clean until the camera angle changed and they spotted Elias standing outside the ring, discarding the instrument-turned-weapon he just used to render the result of the match.

"Aw,  _maaan_. C'mon. This guy. Really? What's his problem lately?" Seth averted his eyes again, shaking his head reproachfully. Roman never stopped watching, and after a moment, Seth found it to be far more informative to just watch  _him_ watch it.

The  _way_  Roman was looking up, taking in what was happening on the mounted screen, brought back memories. Seth couldn't make sense of the disjointed mess until his older brother spoke, with a surprising lack of hesitancy, "You wanna help him?"

" _What_?" Seth shook his head to clear it of the thoughts. He wasn't too lost in them to miss what the question entailed, but no amount of logical thinking could help him understand what was beneath the surface. Another glance up at the screen showed Corbin and Lashley storming the stage, making him squint. "Why would you... wanna...?"

"Could do without Corbin," Roman explained, with a hint of a smile on his lips that didn't tell Seth nearly as much as he wanted to know. His left hand clamped down around his right wrist, curling a fist. "I can't tell you how much this thing's itched, Seth."

"I mean..." Seth didn't doubt the claim he made. The question still didn't sit right with him. "Why would you assume I'd want to  _help him_? Ever again?"

"Was that  _not_  what we were just talking about here-- at length?" Roman got to his feet and Seth instantly followed suit, still apprehensive. Baron and Bobby grouped up with the guitar player at the end of the ramp, and all three of them came to a silent agreement that definitely didn't exclude Drew. "I don't hold spur-of-the-moment crap against my brothers like that. I've never known a heart bigger than yours, Rollins."

Speaking of hearts, Seth's was hammering. He fell into stride walking beside Roman, but put an arm behind his back for good measure, asking intently: "Do  _you_ want to?"

"Yes." His quick nod was subtle, but the one-word answer was anything but.

It made the most amount of sense to Seth that Roman wanted to get back into the swing of things as soon as possible, but he still didn't like this...

...and then he remembered what it felt like to not be able to stomp for even  _just_  four short months, and he suddenly had the overwhelming urge to pull out all the stops to make sure Roman had as many targets to punch as what was possible in a single standing. No jokes about it.

"'Kay then. Let's go, Big Dog."

They broke into a sprint down the hall, Seth admittedly pretty damn excited to see action for the first time tonight. Even  _more_ excited to be seeing it with Roman watching his back. Pushing all of those perceived shortcomings regarding the way he handled Dean to the least important section of his mind, like the one he just spent several minutes discussing with his brother.

Or, less recently, the one where he referred to his family as "broken", when it was quite something all on its own that he could love hard enough to still consider  _every_ last member of it "family."


End file.
